


Waiting To Sacrifice

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-06
Updated: 2007-06-06
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: This is what he does.  Everyday the same thing.Songfic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: Disclaimer: Not mine. Boys belong to Kripke. The song to the brilliant Jonathan Larson.  
  
Song is 'What You Own' from Jonathan Larson's RENT(movie version).  


* * *

_Don’t breathe too deep_

_Don’t think all day_

_Dive into work_

_Drive the other way_

_That drip of hurt_

_That pint of shame goes away_

_Just play the game_

This is what he does. Everyday the same thing. He gets up at six, whether he’s slept in the Impala, or in a crummy hotel room that gives him nightmares. He finds someplace with semi decent coffee, gets a newspaper from whatever town he’s in. He looks for a job.

 

If he’s on a job, the routine doesn’t change much, just instead of coffee and a newspaper, he does research. Then he’ll kill whatever the damn thing is and move on.

 

He rarely talks to people for more than a few minutes, and the people are always related to whatever job he’s on, or clerks in some store/motel.

_You’re living in America_

_At the end of the millennium_

_You’re living in America_

_Leave your conscious at the tone_

He doesn’t think, doesn’t feel. The long empty, lonely stretches of road are filled not with thoughts or memories, but ancient tapes of old rock bands turned loud enough to drown out any thoughts he may have. The tapes and the car are the only comfort he has left, the only things he cares to keep in good condition.

 

Food doesn’t actually appeal to him much anymore, and drinks have lost all flavor. Unless he’s desperate, he avoids diners; they remind him of better times, when he wasn’t alone. When there was someone with him. He’s lost a lot of weight he shouldn’t have, but he’s fit and strong, that’s all that’s important when he’s fighting this war alone. He can watch his own back, no matter how much he doesn’t want to, he does, because he made a promise, and he’s going to keep it, no matter what.

_And when you’re living in America_

_At the end of the millennium_

_You’re what you own_

It’s been three long years, and he hasn’t given up yet. He hasn’t lived either. He died that day, with his brother, his love, but his heart never stopped beating, so, he couldn’t follow one of the few people he ever cared about into death.

 

He knows though, that one day, they’ll meet again, and that’s the only thing that keeps him sane.

 

He also knows when that day is.

 

So, he keeps his head down, he fights the bad guys, he pulls credit card scams for money, and he waits. He doesn’t feel, ever.

 

Because if he does, it will be his undoing and then he’ll really be alone.

_Just tighten those shoulders_

_Just clench your jaw till you frown_

_Just don’t let go_

_Or you may drown._

_So I own, not a notion_

_I escape and gape_

_Content_

_I don’t own emotion_

_I rent._

When he gets a call about a routine possession, he knows its time. He knows it’s not a routine possession.

 

It’s the one he’s been looking for. It’s the one who killed his mother, the one who killed Jessica, the one who killed his father…

 

The one who killed his love.

 

This will be his last job, he knows. This last job will end the war his father started many years ago, and it will end his life.

 

He knows this, he accepts this, and he cherishes this.

_What was it about that night?_

_What was it about that night?_

_Connection in an isolating age_

_For once the shadows gave way to light_

_For once the shadows gave way to light._

_For once I didn’t disengage._

As he drives towards Lawrence, Kansas, he plays Metallica, on low, thinking about how the war that started with a fire in Lawrence, Kansas, will end with a fire in Lawrence, Kansas.

 

It’s the first time he’s thought about anything in the Impala in four years.

 

He reaches Lawrence, and before he goes to the house where his mother died, where he will destroy that which destroyed her, he stops by the cemetery, to say hello. To tell his love he’s almost there. 

 

He takes only his father’s journal, and a sawed off shotgun with him inside the house. He knows he needs only this.

 

All it takes to destroy the demon he, his father and his brother have been hunting all their lives is an exorcism.

 

And he can do exorcism, he can end this war.

 

Because once it’s over, he can go home.

 

So that’s what he does. He exorcises it, just like he and his love did with its daughter. The demon gets one fatal blow though, just like it’s supposed to, but then it’s gone forever to the fiery depths of hell.

_Dying in America at the end of the millennium,_

_We’re dying in America, to come into our own_

He gets back in the Impala, still careful not to get blood on the leather seats, even though he’s dying, and he goes back to the cemetery.

 

He stands in front of his brother’s grave, his love’s grave, for one short moment, then he lays down on the left side of the grave, on the same side of his brother as he always cuddled against in bed.

 

He smiles for the first time in four years and whispers,

 

“I’m home, Dean, I’m home.”

 

Then he’s gone, into the warm embrace of death. At the other side, as cocky as ever, is his smirking brother, his lover, who embraces him with strong arms, kisses him softly and says in his ear,

 

“You’ll never be alone again, Sammy, I promise.” And Dean kisses him again.

_And when you’re dying in America at the end of the millennium,_

_You’re not alone_

_I’m not alone_

_I’m not alone._

\-------Epilogue--------

 

I found him, curled up on the grave of Dean Winchester. He looked vaguely familiar and when I checked his wallet, the license read ‘Sam Winchester’. I remembered him then.

 

Four years ago, the dual funeral for John and Dean Winchester. He and a lady were the only ones there.

 

There was no investigation into his death, just a small article on the seventh page of the newspaper, in the bottom corner, about a drifter found dead in the cemetery.

 

I checked my records on Dean Winchester, and found he was cremated. So, making a guess from the way I discovered Sam’s body, I set to cleaning him up, to get him ready for cremation, when I found it.

 

It was a worn, creased picture of two men, one being Sam, the other a person I could only assume was Dean. They were sitting in what appeared to be the booth of a restaurant, hands linked together loosely on the table, shoulders touching. Sam was smiling a wide, carefree smile, his eyes full of love on Dean, and a cup of coffee in the hand not holding Dean’s. Dean’s head was half turned to Sam; his eyes alight with happiness. He appeared to be in the middle of saying something, but he had a grin on nonetheless.

 

That’s when I knew these two men, though brothers, where lovers. And just from looking at the picture I knew they had belonged together, they still did. Whether they were siblings or not, they were meant to be. I would not judge the dead.

 

Setting the picture aside, I did what I thought was right. I had Sam cremated. He was buried beside Dean, and I framed the photo and set it between them. Then I stepped back and read two of the Winchester tombstones.

**_Dean Winchester_ **

**_1979-2006_ **

**_Lover, Brother, Father, Mother_ **

**_Broken four times_ **

**_Healed many more_ **

**_Always loved_ **

****

**_Sam Winchester_ **

**_Died July 2010_ **

**_He loved and was loved_ **


End file.
